


The Devil's Bounty Hunter

by SwordDraconis113



Category: Original Work
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Canon Bisexual Character, Demon Deals, Demon Sex, F/F, LGBTQ Character of Color, Life Force Drinking, POV First Person, Present Tense, Urban Fantasy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-30
Updated: 2014-01-30
Packaged: 2018-01-10 13:38:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1160341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SwordDraconis113/pseuds/SwordDraconis113
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zarah attends university most days, looks after her sister, gets into fights with her alcoholic mother and takes the lives of people who've skipped out on their deals with the devil.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Devil's Bounty Hunter

No one remembers that my sister died. Even now, I’m watching her perform on stage, her eyes bright as she dances in the scene with other fifth graders in the school play and not a single person remembers that only last month, she was lying in the hospital. 

It’s a bloody boring play and if she wasn’t in it, I wouldn’t be within a hundred metres of the school hall. As it is, I’m currently sitting in the middle row, holding up my phone to record the play because I promised her dad. 

Cailie looks at me, smile wide, her dark hair pulled up in a bun that’s falling apart. You wouldn’t guess that she had leukaemia yesterday. As she stumbles off stage, only knocking into one of the props, I place the phone back down. Dad only wanted her part. 

“She’s grown up, hasn’t she?” Mrs Mackenzie says- err, Francine I guess, now? Or…no, let’s stick with Mrs Mackenzie. 

“She has,” I agree. “She’s a good kid.” Better than I was, I mean. Mrs Mackenzie chuckles, understanding my meaning. She had me in year six. Needless to say, I was quite defiant. 

Still am. To most people. 

The play finishes with children singing off key. I record Cailie’s bow and her enthused clap before I, with the rest of the parents, stand up and move outside as the kids shuffled off stage to grab their stuff. 

Most of the other families have no idea who I am. They’re all there for the children who are around the same age as Cailie. Proud parents though. The kind that attend school fetes and make sure their children have the very best costume for the play. Or the kind that turn up to events. 

My mum isn’t that type. Dad tries to be, but he’s always working and there’s only so much time he can take off. It just about killed him to ring me up and ask me to record the play. 

Still, I stuff my hands into the denim pockets and do the polite ‘hellos’ to those I do recognise. Including a few old teachers that remembered me. Funny that Cailie ended up at the same primary school. 

“Zarah, Zarah!” She rushed up, grabbing me around my waist. “Did you see me? I had _wings_ did you see? And my hair stayed up and I pinned it myself, Miss May helped a bit but mostly I did it. I also wore sparkles, could you see me sparkle?” 

“I did!” I lie. Taking Callie’s bag, I sling it over my shoulder and hold out my hand for her. She grabs it, swinging it happily. In a few minutes she’s going to crash, ready for bed. “Did you have fun?” 

“I didn’t forget a step! Can I see the recording?” 

“Not yet, wait for Dad. He wants to see it too.” Cailie doesn’t mind. She skips, holding my hand, waving goodbye to friends and teachers proudly. “Did you see Stephanie. She stumbled and-“ 

“Don’t be mean,” I tell her. “Stumbling happens.” 

“But she’s so-“ 

“Cailie,” I stop, turning to her. Cailie grows stills under my eyes and nods. “What did I tell you?” 

“Not to be mean to other girls.” 

“Or boys,” I remind her. “Why did I tell you that?” 

“Because maybe they’re hurting inside.” 

“Good.” We continue on as if nothing had happened. Cailie begins skipping again, commenting about werewolves and a full moon when the back on my neck prickles. It’s when I come out of the front gates that I see her. Why tonight? “Cailie,” I say, digging into my pockets. “Will you get into the car for me. I just want to talk to a friend.” 

“Okay.” She grabs the keys and runs off, probably because she knows this means she can pick the playlist in the car. Turning, I look to the woman leaning against the school fence a few metres down. Leather jacket, leather pants, her arm holding a motorcycle helmet. She tilts her head to look at me, pink lips curling into a smile. 

“Zarah, look at you playing mum.” 

“Let me take my sister home first.” I dig my hands into my back pocket, looking away from her. Not here, god, why here? 

But she walks up, one finger pressing under my chin and tilts it up until I look at her. “Five minutes.” 

“Sure. Five minutes.” 

“Then I want you outside your house.” She steps back, running her eyes over me. “You’ll want to wear black.” _Shit_. Right. Okay. Tonight it is. 

I swallow a lump, nodding. The woman kisses my cheek, and I smell a sweet, fruity perfume before she leaves, tossing the helmet on. I wait until her back’s turned to me before I stride over to the car, terror shaking my limbs. The car’s handle sticks before I rip it open, climbing inside. Cailie’s already got the music on. 

“You forgot the p-plates.” 

“Fuck the p-plates,” I mutter, switching the engine on. Some new electro pop song is playing, but I barely listen. Adjusting the car mirror, I smile down at Cailie, “Sorry, I shouldn’t swear.” 

“No you shouldn’t,” she agrees, then smiles. “I won’t tell Mum.” 

“Or Dad.” 

“Might tell Dad,” she says cheekily. Laughing, I push the stick into the gear and drive off, careful not to hit any of the other drivers on the road. I’m trying not to shake but my fingers drum on the steering wheel, and my left foot is bouncing up and down on the car floor. 

“Zarah. Are you okay?” 

“Hmm?” 

“You look scared,” Cailie whispers it, like she’s afraid for me. Maybe she is. I smile, shaking my head at her. Always observant, that one. 

“My friend wants me to do something for her tonight. Are you alright to stay at home?” The fingers drum nervously and Cailie leans forward in the seat, turning the music down. She’s quiet for a few moments and I glance at her, worried that she thinks I’m leaving her. 

“Dad will be home later, won’t he?” 

My heart hurts at the question, blinking, I look the road in front and try to smile, at least for her. “He had a meeting. That’s why he couldn’t come. He rang me up so I would film your play for him.” 

“Okay.” 

I know what she’s asking. But she knows what to do. When we pull up at the house, we get out of the car quietly. The lights are on, which is about as helpful as noticing that the mailbox is tilted. Taking Cailie’s hand, I lead her out back, and open the backdoor. She rushes off to her room, feet padding quietly on the carpet. Mum doesn’t look behind her. She’s sitting in the lounge room, her back to my right as I enter. 

There’s a wine bottle out, half filled. Red. Damn. She’s finished the white. 

“I’m going out,” I tell her. Better I tell her then she finds out when I sneak back in. “Grace called from home, she needs help with an assignment.” 

“It’s a bit late, isn’t it?” 

“Mum, it’s only eight-thirty.” 

“Oh.” _Yeah, oh._ I glare, biting my tongue. “Sure. That’s fine.” 

I grimace. Mum watching some television show that gives money to the victor. The type that are so rigged you can’t believe anyone would go on it. Mum watches them religiously. “I’ll see you later. I might stay the night if it gets too late.” 

“See you late. Bye. Love you.” 

“Love you too.” The keys clamp in my hand, and I grab the half bottle of red, tossing a look behind me to make sure she doesn’t see. 

Up the hallway, first left from the kitchen is Cailie’s room. Ducking my head in I smile at her. “See you later.” 

“When will you be back?” 

“Late tonight.” 

“Really?” 

“Really. I promise.” I walk in, eyeing the mess of toys on the floor, books open and spilled across the white carpet, covered by dirty clothes. You can’t see the carpet but there’s no point telling her off this late at night. I just lean over, kiss her on the cheek and hug her briefly. “Stay in your room until Dad comes home, alright?” 

“What if Mum goes to sleep?” 

“Be _very_ quiet.” She nods, then grins. “Night Zarah! I love you _thiiiiis_ much,” she spans her arms wide, giggling. 

“Love you more! Sleep well.” Another kiss, on the forehead this time before I awkwardly find my way out of the room, shutting the door behind me. Across the hall is my room. The door’s shut, but old pictures are stuck on it. Me with friends, holding bunny ears. Family pictures. One, taking centre of the door at eye-height is of me and Cailie on the beach from last summer. 

Turning the handle, I shove my shoulder into it. During winter it always sticks to the frame. Something about shrinking wood, I think. 

The wine bottle is dropped, rolled under the bed with six others I’ve been meaning to collect over the week. All ranging from unopened to half filled. I tug out of my clothes, chucking them into the straw basket in the corner of the room before I pull on the work pants, black shirt and leather jacket. I grab an elastic band, shoving my keys into the jacket pocket before I leave. 

“Night!” I call out. There are two short replies echoed. 

The front door slams shut behind me and I stare at the motorcycle on the driveway, sighing as she hands me a helmet. “Gloves,” she says. Voice melting over the word. Damn. 

Reaching into my other pocket, I pull out the black gloves, slipping them on. The elastic band snaps over my hair, pulling it into a loose pony tail, low on my neck before I shove the helmet on. 

“Ready?” 

I nod, swinging my leg over the back behind her. My hands go around her waist, the familiar flip in my stomach starting as she revs the engine and pushes off. I hate this. 

The world blurs past, or I just keep my eyes shut, feeling the familiar curves of the road as I lean closer to the woman. We met two weeks before Cailie died. Desperation on my part. Every time I asked for a name she gave me a new one. Her favourite at the moment was _Lucy_. A real kicker that one. 

The motorcycle stops suddenly, boot on the ground. My own legs, loose in fear, stumble down before I slide off, somehow managing to keep horizontal. The gun’s placed into my hand, a muffler already on. If I didn’t wear gloves I’d be aware of the cold weapon. With a sharp look to her, I shove it into the coat pocket, sighing as I take off the helmet. “What does this one make?” she asks me. 

“Eight.” I shut my eyes, thinking of Cailie, then open them again. “I’m on my last hundred, Luce. I can’t afford any more gloves. 

“Hush,” she says. Her helmet’s off, hair perfect and golden like it’s made from sunshine or some bullshit. Her skin’s golden, too. A fair few shades paler than my own. She looks like an angel which I think is the real kicker. 

Grabbing my shoulders, she turns me around and undoes the tie. “Now, four of those will be for your sister.” 

“And the other four?” 

“You got shot, remember? Payment for services.” I can feel her hands in my hair, braiding it quickly, easily. She’s half a foot taller than me and probably older than this earth, depending if you believe what they say. Her interest in me is, so far, is primarily in a mentor sort of way. I think. I’m more of an intern than an apprentice though. But it’s difficult to think that when her hands are in my hair and I’m having strange, sort of, airy feelings in my stomach. 

Must have been the coffee I had before the school play. 

“When are you going to collect it?” 

“The chi?” 

“Yeah, that.” The chi. Life force. Or, as I named it like a real aussie, last breath. “ _Are_ you going to collect it?” 

“Tonight,” she smiles. Her hand slides over my shoulder and she walks us down the street. We’re in the middle of some random no-through road, headed towards the dead end. It dips down, from what I can see, to a creek covered with large, hundred year-old trees. Lucy climbs over the wooden fence at the end of the road, not looking behind to make sure I follow. Swearing, I climb over it too. 

There’s a dip into the creek and awkwardly I follow, stepping over stones as the creek rushes past, soaking the hem of my pants. It’s fuller than usual and I desperately want to curse that I did not come here to get my socks wet. But I know better than to speak and just to follow, climbing up behind Lucy. 

She makes it all look like an ease and not something bloody steep and freaking impossible to climb. My gloves are covered in dirt as I dig my way up, biting my tongue to stop from shouting out obscenely. 

Finally, at the top, panting and swearing profusely, I double over and glare at her. Lucy’s leaning against the fence, smiling at me. She follows the fence, leading me behind houses. Here, I _know_ that stealth is a necessity. When we pause behind another no-through road, the opposing side of the creek this time, she turns and smiles at me. “You didn’t drop it, did you?” 

I pull out the gun, cocking it. She comes up behind me, hand on my arms, then my thighs, adjusting my stance. There’s a tall fence hiding me from view. Clouds have spilled out across most of the moon, making it difficult to see. “Where?” I ask, softly. 

She points. There’s a man out the front of his house, putting away garbage in the bin. She smiles, climbs over the fence and begins walking over to him, as if appearing from across the street. 

My hand doesn’t shake, but I can feel it sweat beneath the glove. I swallow, focusing on my heart beat. I’ve done this before, I can do it again. Except, this time it’s not close range. 

Raising the gun steady, I aim, waiting until he’s in my line of sight. The man’s in his thirties, nodding his head, shoulders shaking as Lucy talks to him. I wait for the moment. It comes when Lucy shakes his hand, stepping closer. My finger squeezes the trigger. There’s no sound, but a short noise with the muffler. The man drops dead, not even aware of what happened, into Lucy’s arms. 


End file.
